cross country comfortably by rail; after that hire a
horse and have a gallop somewhere or other; find out Shank and bring him
home. The whole thing might be done in a few weeks; and no chance,
almost, of being wrecked."

"I don't know, Charlie," returned Mrs Brooke, in a sad tone, as she
laid her hand on her son's arm and stroked it. "As you put it, the
thing sounds all very easy, and no doubt it would be a grand, a noble
thing to rescue Shank--but--but, why talk of it to-night, my dear boy?
It is late. Go to bed, Charlie, and we will talk it over in the
morning."

"How pleasantly familiar that `Go to bed, Charlie,' sounds," said the
son, laughing, as he rose up.

"You did not always think it pleasant," returned the good lady, with a
sad smile.

"That's true, but I think it uncommonly pleasant _now_. Good-night,
mother."

"Good-night, my son, and God bless you."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

CHANGES THE SCENE CONSIDERABLY!

We must transport our reader now to a locality somewhere in the region
lying between New Mexico and Colorado. Here, in a mean-looking
out-of-the-way tavern, a number of rough-looking men were congregated,
drinking, gambling, and spinning yarns. Some of them belonged to the
class known as cow-boys--men of rugged exterior, iron constitutions,
powerful frames, and apparently reckless dispositions, though underneath
the surface there was considerable variety of character to be found.

The landlord of the inn--if we may so call it, for it was little better
than a big shanty--was known by the name of David. He was a man of cool
courage. His customers knew this latter fact well, and were also aware
that, although he carried no weapon on his person, he had several
revolvers in handy places under his counter, with the use of which he
was extremely familiar and expert.

In the midst of a group of rather noisy characters who smoked and drank
in one corner of this inn or shanty, there was seated on the end of a
packing-case, a man in the prime of life, who, even in such rough
company, was conspicuously rugged. His leathern costume betokened him a
hunter, or trapper, and the sheepskin leggings, with the wool outside,
showed that he was at least at that time a horseman. Unlike most of his
comrades, he wore Indian moccasins, with spurs strapped to them. Also a
cap of the broad-brimmed order. The point about him that was most
striking at first sight was his immense breadth of shoulder and depth of